


Getaway Driver

by IndigoJones



Category: Death Note
Genre: Angst and Humor, Death Note Kink Meme, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, post-explosion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoJones/pseuds/IndigoJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt 'some post-explosion Matt and Mello hurt/comfort. Want some blood and burns, plz.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getaway Driver

**Author's Note:**

> I confess I find pre-explosion mafia!Mello unintentionally hilarious and this probably shows. Also, what with being gangsta and all, there’s a *lot* of fucking swearing.

‘You know Guy Fawkes was five days ago, right?’

Matt tapped his cigarette out the window. He’d been driving four hours solid and still had no idea where he was going. Away was fine as a direction but not much use as a destination. He flicked his eyes to the cellphone nested next to the gear shift.

‘You really that pissed at being put down as a pretty-boy?’

The lump on the backseat raised a gloved hand and flashed a middle digit to the rear-view mirror. Matt had found the bed sheet in the trunk; he’d used it once to keep dust off some IT stuff he was transporting and forgotten about it. The first time they’d stopped Matt had bandaged Mello up then thrown it over him. Mello had objected to neither the pinkness nor the flowers; he probably wasn’t in any state to. Besides, prior to the blanket’s presence Mello hadn’t been wearing much of anything at all.

‘Just saying that next time you have a big idea - run it past your local area geek first.’

‘It worked didn’t it?’

That was debatable. Reading between the lines, Mello’s plan had been: in event of emergency, blow everything the fuck up. Fortunately he had remembered to wear breathing apparatus. Unfortunately:

‘It might have worked better if you hadn’t done it dressed like a bondage queen.’

Matt lit a cigarette off the butt of his previous smoke. Mello needed IV fluids, a blood transfusion, oxygen and probably surgery. Matt had a first aid kit and three bottles of gatorade.

‘Yeah. Hello Mr SWAT team. Don’t mind me while I slip into something more explodable.’

Mello had always had a ridiculously high pain tolerance, even an outright fondness for it at times; Matt suspected his neural circuitry was bollocksed. But whether his brain was getting its rocks off or whether he had just burnt away any nerve endings capable of reporting back pain his lungs were objecting. His breath came in limping gasps audible over the hum of the engine.

‘You could have – dressed for the occasion.’

Matt made a note to check his pulse the next time they stopped for gas. 

‘They’re my clothes.’

‘Correction. They were your clothes. They’re now beef crackling served on a bed of exploded concrete.’

And I see your bottom lip is still functional thought Matt, checking the hefty pout in the rear-view mirror. Keep him angry Matt thought; keep the adrenaline pumping. A call has got to come through soon with somewhere I can take him.

‘Always such a blonde about using protection.’

‘Matty,’ Matt grimaced. ‘You know I’m a fucking genius.’

‘Melly, I know you’re a fucking genius with the clap clinic on speed dial.’

They drove in silence for a while. A rainstorm hit spattering the windshield with drops as thick as jell-o. Matt watched the wipers do battle with the water; watched the roadway appear and disappear behind waves of gelatine.

‘Matt?’ He sounded worse.

‘What?’

‘The next time we stop can you get me some chocolate milk?’

‘No.’

‘Please?’

‘As I explained two gas stations ago, you will puke it. And that will be bad for you and bad for me because milk stinks when you throw it back up and we’ll be stuck in a car that reeks of it.’

Like anything could smell worse than Mello right now. But there was no way having him vomit would be good news. He’d probably hurt himself trying.

‘Matt?’

‘No.’

‘Where are we going?’

Matt lit another cigarette.

‘We’re going somewhere where we can get you help.’

‘Matty?’

‘WHAT?’

‘I grew up there too you know.’

‘So?’

‘So I can tell when you’re fucking lying.’

 

*

 

At the next truckstop Matt pulled over and went to the restroom. He ran more of his dwindling supply of bandages under the cold water tap. The internet had been a world of no help: third degree burns , dial 911 immediately. Just what Matt couldn’t do. So he was stuck making like a girl scout first aider; putting cool bandages over wounds that looked like explosions in a pork processing machine. 

Mello yelped and gritted his teeth as he pulled the old bandage away. The wounds were getting sticky, at least the bits that weren’t charred black. Mello sighed as Matt pressed the cold cloth against them. 

‘Feel better?’

'My ears have popped.'

Matt smiled and let him lie back down while he eased the dry bandage off his face. 

‘How do I look?’

‘Well – if you turned up at the end of a level I’d start shooting.’

Mello gasped as he pushed down the new dressing. Matt stroked the unharmed side of his face; it was getting clammy. When he opened his visible eye it was glassy and dilated. He’s going into shock, Matt thought. He changed the bottle of gatorade and held the straw to Mello’s lips. He sucked at it desperately and then lay back breathless. Matt pulled the sheet around him.

‘You sound like L,’ Mello croaked.

Matt closed the car door and went to make more phonecalls. Most of the numbers he’d called earlier were on voicemail. Mello had been more than useful to the Mafia, but that didn’t change the fact he was an obnoxious brat and nobody really felt like handing out the favours to obnoxious brats who were prone to expensive, not to mention explosive bursts of independent activity. Matt sighed and accepted it. As far as the Mafia was concerned, Mello’s contract had been terminated.

Which left Matt with one last number. He hesitated before tapping the digits. He was certain this number would pick up.

‘Okay – okay. Listen, can you get to San Luciana airfield? We’ll have someone come get you.’

 

*

 

Mello lifted his head. The one blue eye stared at Matt in the rear-view mirror.

‘We just came that way.’

Matt bit his lip.

‘And now we are going back that way.’

Mello turned his head and started dribbling regurgitated gatorade down his chin. You are one sexy muthafucker now, aren’t you – thought Matt.

‘Someone called back.’

‘Yeah. They are sending a plane.’

‘What the fuck they need a plane for –oh.’

Glassy as it was the eye in the mirror was now definitely glaring. 

‘No way. No fucking way.’

You’re no genius, thought Matt. You’re not some kooky kid who can pattern analyse the hell out of data code like the rest of us. What you got is smarts, pure, dirty animal instinct that took over long ago and scares the hell out of me. 

‘Nobody else was picking up. You’re going to die if we keep on like this.’

‘You called Roger didn’t you?’

Why can’t you just lie down and whimper like a good burn victim, thought Matt. Why is your brain so bollocksed that it still functions after being blown up and baked and God knows what else? Why are those damn smarts the last thing you lose?

‘You bastard, you called Roger – didn’t you?’

‘Forgive me for wanting to keep you alive.’

‘I am not going back there. I’ll kill myself before I get on the plane.’

‘And how’ll you do that fuckwit?’

Matt really shouldn’t have asked. The next thing he knew he had arms round his shoulders and a pair of gloved hands yanking the wheel. They skidded across the freeway and Matt only got his breath back when he realised he’d wrestled control back seconds before they’d smashed into the earth banks. He steadied himself and continued driving down the verge.

‘You are a fucking psycho.’

Matt flicked the indicators on and pulled out onto the road again.

‘You are a fucking traitor.’ Mello slumped against the driver’s seat with his arms still over Matt’s shoulders. He started coughing like he was bringing his lungs up. When he looked up Matt nearly crashed the car again. He’d hacked up blood, not lines of pretty crimson like in the movies, lumpy purplish clotted blood. Matt felt his hands moisten inside his gloves. If he hadn’t been wearing them his hands would have slid off the wheel.

Mello didn’t appear able to move. He stayed at that forty five degree angle with a tremor running down his arms. After a while he looked up again.

‘You’re still driving.’

‘We can’t stop here.’

‘Well where the -,’

‘I’m getting you off the road.’

 

*

 

The Motel was cheap, seedy and looked like it had cockroaches. Good, thought Matt. Just the sort of place that isn’t going to get to fussy if I’m caught manhandling a heavily bandaged blond dressed in this season’s top biker boots, bed sheet and Boston strangler gloves ensemble. He pulled Mello’s arm around his shoulders and let him rest his good side heavily against him as they shuffled across the parking lot. Mello looked like the world’s most pissed off zombie, holding the sheet around himself like a shroud. He breathed heavily on Matt’s neck as he fumbled the key into the lock. I hope they think he’s just drunk, please let them think he’s just drunk, thought Matt but nobody interrupted.

When they got in he settled Mello on the bed and tried to ease his boots off. This was easier said than done as Mello’s feet now seemed to be four times bigger than they ever had been before. Matt pulled his knife out of his pocket.

‘Hey!’

‘What now?’

‘Those are my favourite boots.’

He feebly tried to move his legs away. Matt caught a foot in his hand.

‘Well you shouldn’t have worn them to a semtex party then,’ Matt growled, trying to slide the knife into the leather without taking out Mello’s skin.

‘But that’s all my clothes gone.’

‘Yes. It’s a common side effect of blowing yourself up.’

Matt sliced down the back of the boot and peeled it off. The foot revealed was huge, red and shiny.

‘You seem to know an awful lot about explosions.’

Matt made a grab for the other leg.

‘I’ve been your friend for quite a while now, Mello.’

 

When Mello had been divested of his boots Matt pulled the comforter around him and set about searching the room for towels. He found several; all hard, stained and ragged. They would have to do. He went into the bathroom and threw them all into the shower and turned it on cold.

The trouble with Wammy’s Kids is we’ve all been conditioned into insomnia, thought Matt, pulling off his gloves. There was no business with put-that-down-and-go-to-bed. Staying up half the night working on your latest obsession was outright encouraged. The downside was it was nearly impossible to get a Wammy brain to switch off, even when unconsciousness was the best thing that could happen to it. Matt wrung out the towels. True to form, when he got back Mello was still wide awake.

He pulled the comforter down. Mello tensed beneath him. Whatever was seeping from the wounds had worked through the bandages and had stuck the sheet to his chest.

‘Okay, this is going to hurt like fuck.’

Mello nodded. Matt tried to strip the sheet from him. Mello started breathing really fast and shallow; blood started leaking around Matt’s fingers. Mello shook all over then started coughing again, fresh blood this time. It seemed to send him into some kind of delirium. He made a thin shrieking noise and started jerking all over like a malfunctioning robot, creaking the springs in the bed.

When he was done shaking Mello seemed to have blacked out. Matt took the opportunity to try and slice between skin and bandages with his knife but Mello started whimpering. He could feel it even comatose. Matt gave up. In his head he’d planned to clean up Mello and get some of the antiseptic cream from the first aid kit on his wounds. In reality – what fucking good would that do? Mello might be a little pain slut but that didn’t mean Matt wanted to hurt him just to make himself feel useful.

Matt kicked his own boots off and shrugged off his jacket, clicking his goggles down on the bedside cabinet. He leant over Mello and gently wiped the blood, vomit and lumpy white saliva off his chin with the corner of one of the towels. Leaning in further, he kissed Mello’s cheek, dry now and heated with fever. It was too late for the antiseptic cream anyway. He kissed down to Mello’s mouth, to his ragged lips rough as sandpaper. When he stopped and looked up one very dilated blue eye was staring at him.

‘I’m going to get the towels on you now, okay?’

‘I saw stars.’

‘Of course you did.’ Matt eased one of the cold damp towels over his side, hearing Mello’s breathing soften in relief.

‘No I really did.’

Matt let him babble as he continued swaddling him in the wet towels. It sounded like it was important to him.

‘I opened the door to the surveillance room and something knocked me cold.’

Matt draped the last towel over his face. Mello sighed and shut his eye for a moment.

‘When I opened my eyes my clothes had gone and where the ceiling was – was all stars.’

‘Tell me if this hurts.’ Matt yanked off his sweatshirt and walked round the bed, getting in on the other side and spooning up to Mello’s back.

Mello smiled and let Matt touch his face again.

‘Not much,’ said Mello. ‘Good pain.’

‘Ssh,’ said Matt. ‘Just think about when I hurt you real nice.’

Matt contemplated the shivering mound of terrycloth beside him. What was beginning to creep into his head wasn’t recommended on any of the first aid sites, but Matt knew from experience when he was sick and snotty what made him feel better. And Mello was hardly in any shape to do it himself.

‘Does that hurt?’ He said, snaking his hand over Mello’s hip to caress the top of Mello’s cock. It was flaccid, Matt was more holding it that wanking it, but he hoped it brought some comfort.

‘Not in the mood.’

Matt gently rocked his hand, just rolling it over the head.

‘Might get you off to sleep?’

Mello muttered but seemed okay with it. Matt rested on his elbow and used his free hand to lift Mello’s filthy hair off the back of his neck, getting a strong whiff of burnt flesh and cordite. He inched the towel back to where the hairline dipped into a triangle at the centre of Mello’s neck. He’d been stood behind a door, thought Matt; the door must have protected his right side from the backdraft. And so this spot remains.

‘Do you want the good news?’ said Matt, beginning to stroke Mello’s cock in a firmer rhythm. 

‘Hmm?’ 

Matt awkwardly put his head down and started to suckle the nape of Mello’s neck. Mello’s cock twitched in his hands and there was a gasp of pain as his hips involuntarily bucked forward. Matt started to nibble at the skin over the knobbles of his spine, licking the little nips after he was done and getting a weak moan from under the towels. He adjusted his neck and got stuck in, patting hard rough kisses just under his hairline, alternating sucks and bites.

It was one of the precious things, the things Matt knew about Mello and he was sure nobody else did. That he really was a hermaphrodite or whatever they called him behind his back because if nature hadn’t installed a clit on the back of his neck he didn’t know what that place was. Mello was half hard now and moving into his hand. Matt continued to torture his neck until he got a louder, real moan.

‘Not hurting am I?’

‘Less talk.’

Matt continued to go down on the back of his neck. It really was the only word for it. Mello was panting now, rubbing his ass against the crotch of Matt’s jeans. He switched hands on Mello’s cock so he could reach over and rub his thumb against Mello’s surviving nipple, still pumping hard. Mello grunted and sucked his breath and whispered.

‘No.’

Matt stopped.

‘Feels weird.’

Having nowhere more intimate to reach Matt planted a kiss firmly on the towel covering the left side of his head. He switched his hands back, he always got a better rhythm with his left and soon Mello was sighing again.

‘I’m going to be really strange after this, aren’t I?’

Matt ached for flesh to kiss and comfort. All that was there were damn towels. He felt like a horny teenager trying to fuck the household laundry pile. Finally he planted another kiss on Mello’s abused neck.

‘Ssh. We’ll have to learn it all again then. Be like old times.’

He moved his unoccupied hand to safer areas, stroking behind Mello’s sac and along towards his asshole. Mello’s unharmed side smiled into the pillows.

‘What if I’m hideous?’

You ain’t exactly a sex-god now, darlin’ thought Matt.

‘Then we’ll do it doggy style,’ he said, tugging on Mello’s balls.

Mello was quiet for a while except for his uneven moaning. Then he muttered:

‘Give us some cock, Matty.’

Matt froze. While he was quite happy to get Mello off, and he’d even got a little hard from the friction Mello had provided earlier, he really wasn’t sure if he was up to it right now. Mello was sick, stank and had just recently tried to kill them both. There wasn’t much erotic to go on.

‘Not a good idea,’ he said. ‘You’ve probably got internal injuries.’

‘So don’t let me die horny with an empty ass.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ Matt stroked the good side of Mello’s stomach. He almost certainly was bleeding in there if his lungs were anything to go by.

‘Then it’s a good job you’ve got a tiny dick.’

Not exactly inspiring me to fuck you here Mello, thought Matt.

Matt leant over him so he was staring Mello right in the good eye.

‘You’d think, after all the trouble being a little bitch has caused you, you’d learn when it’s time to cut it out.’

‘Now you’re talking, Matt.’

Matt kicked the bedding off crossly and slunk over to retrieve the condoms and lube from his jacket. He shrugged off his jeans and boxers trying to get a few pulls on his cock in before Mello caught him. He had no idea how to go about it. Even if he did manage to man up enough to get a condom on, the logistics were a nightmare. He sighed and squeezed some lube onto his fingers.

Somewhere, he thought as he took hold of Mello’s cock again and started sliding a lubed finger in between his ass cheeks, somewhere underneath all of the bandages and burns and towels is the filthy little slut I love. As if to affirm this, Mello’s ass gave a wiggle back on his finger causing him to hiss in pain. Matt stroked at his entrance soothingly and felt his thighs go slack, allowing him to work the finger in. Mello hissed again, sounding more pleased with himself this time.

This is Mello, he thought into the towels as the ring of muscle contracted around him. This is the fucked-up psycho I taught to cum like he means it. This is the kid in class with the bruises on his neck that made me so horny I had to pretend to need the bathroom and go and knock one out. This is Mello and God should he even be able to make noises like that in this state?

‘Say my name,’ said Matt, hooking his finger over that place in Mello that he loved.

‘You know your name,’ groaned Mello.

‘I want you to say the name of the one who is going to fuck you senseless.’ He slid another finger in. On a good day, he could skewer Mello with a mouth on his neck and a finger up his ass and bring him off untouched. Today was not a good day.

‘Matt,’ said Mello, antsy at the distraction from his moaning.

‘Do you remember the time you bent over your tacky sofa and had me lick some stranger’s cum from your well-fucked asshole?’

He slipped a third finger into Mello, sliding them in and out and scissoring them. Pain or not Mello was thrusting back against his fingers now. Matt had to catch his hip to stop him causing more damage. Mello satisfied himself with clenching and unclenching, fucking Matt’s fingers as he prepared him.

‘Do you remember the time you made me go to this awful club and make out with you all night with your coat done up because you got off on people not knowing whether I was going with a boy or a girl? – Aaaaah OW!’

Mello had sat up. He was now straddled in front Matt, spaghetti legs akimbo on the pillows beside Matt’s shoulders and Matt’s hand still trapped in his ass.

‘You can’t get it up, can you?’

‘Breaking my wrist here.’

Mello grinned and pressed his hips harder down into the bed.

‘You’re trying to work yourself up to it – aren’t you?’ Matt could tell Mello was enjoying hurting him. His cock was rigid, slick at the tip, angry as hell and all ready to be fucked. ‘You’re trying to remember that I used to be pretty,’ he twisted his hips viciously, ‘aren’t you?’

‘I’m just – I just don’t want to hurt you,’ said Matt. Mello reached down and started stroking Matt’s semi-aroused cock. Matt had to admit it was a pretty poor showing, but the feel of the leather against his shaft was as good as ever, smooth, skin but not-skin. The ache in his wrist was joined by a warmer, more familiar ache in his balls.

‘Well you fucked up on that count ducky,’ said Mello. ‘Because whoever you thought you were fucking then, whatever nice piece of blond ass you’d got, he ain’t around anymore.’ Mello pulled the towel of his head, squeezing at Matt’s glans as he did so. ‘This is what you’re going to be fucking now.’

The bandages were ruinous. Something brown had seeped through them, shrinking them down to reveal the glistening burnt flesh underneath. Mello had finally succeeded in making himself terrifying. One side still was still the china doll mask that Matt knew he’d always hated; the other was The Mummy Returns.

He could have done this on purpose, thought Matt.

He did do this on purpose thought Matt, wondering if he’d ever be able to use his hand again. A jolt went right through his cock.

‘Do you like what you see?’

‘Yeah,’ said Matt not sure if the accompanying groan was pain or arousal.

‘Do you want to fuck what you see?’

‘Yeah,’ Matt moaned, ‘real bad.’

‘Good.’ Said Mello, shifting his ass to release Matt’s hand. ‘Because if you don’t want to fuck this anymore you can get the fuck out. Now give me the condom.’

Matt moved his fingers to check they were still functional. He reached for the little packet on the bedside table and ripped the top open handing in to Mello. Mello smiled and popped the rubber circle in his mouth. Matt threw his head back and gasped as the gloved hand ran back along his shaft for the last time, closely followed by a hot mouth trailing warm latex.

‘Okay,’ said Matt, ‘but on your side. I meant what I said about not hurting you.’ Mello lay back with his head facing forwards so Matt could kiss him as he gently pushed in. Matt watched his face as he took him slowly, Mello's eye shut and his mouth gasped open. The pace was agonising for both of them, but Matt didn’t dare go faster. He reached out to Mello’s cock, stroking him smoothly to the pace of his painfully slow thrusts.

He’d never had Mello like this before. Sex for Mello was all about the rushing, the arousal, the desperation, the destination was often a disappointment. That was another of the precious things; that Mello hadn’t realised orgasm was supposed to be the best bit. They’d had a lot of fun exploring the difference between what made Mello shoot and what made him climax, and by now Matt was sure he was pretty good at it. On the top ten scoreboard at least. Matt shifted his position.

‘There?’

‘Back up a bit.’

‘There?’

‘No.’

Matt rolled his hips as he sunk into Mello who suddenly clenched around him gasping ‘fuck, fuck, fuck.’ Matt kissed his cheek.

‘There.’

‘Fuck Matt this is torture.’

‘It ain’t any easier for me,’ Matt was gritting his teeth against the urge to thrust harder. ‘Just uh- just relax and try to enjoy it.’

‘I am enjoying it.’ Mello panted as Matt run over his prostate again. ‘I’m enjoying it so much it’s going to kill me.’ 

‘Shut up.’ Matt leant down and kissed Mello. His mouth was so dry his tongue scuffed against Matt as they encircled, moaning into each other’s mouths. Mello’s gasps sounded almost contented when he pulled back.

‘This pace, fuck – Jesus, this pace makes my ass feel so full.’

‘Thought I had a tiny dick?’

‘I talk a lot of shit Matt.’

Matt leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth.

‘I know.’

Mello smiled and twisted his head against the pillow.

‘Matt?’ his voice was really soft.

‘What?’

‘There’s something I need to, ah, tell you.’

Mello certainly knew how to pick his moments. Matt tried to pull his attention away from the need to shove into Mello like a jackhammer and tried to listen.

‘Remember when we were kids?’

‘Sure,’ Matt gave Mello’s cock an encouraging faster pump.

‘And,’ he gasped, moaned, tried again, ‘And you were third?’

‘Yes?’

‘Well you weren’t.’

‘Huh?’

‘I – ah, I got so sick of Near beating me I, - gah, broke into Roger’s and stole the answer sheet.’

Matt leant down and kissed him again. It really wasn’t a good kiss, Mello’s mouth was bone-dry but he was aching to do it. He leant back and looked over Mello.

‘He still beat me,’ Mello said.

‘Hush,’ he kissed Mello’s forehead. ‘Don’t think about that.’

‘But I got to. Matt, If I don’t make it and Kira is still out there – you were number two when L died.’

‘You’re going to make it.’

‘But if I don’t...’

‘I tell you what,’ said Matt, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the sensitive spot at the base of Mello’s cockhead. ‘You’re two and I’m two.’ He twisted his hand slightly, pulling into a much faster rhythm, pumping as fast as he wished his hips could move. ‘And that’s four – right? Four’s bigger than one, so between the both of us, I reckon we could beat Near.’

‘Are you saying you’d work with me?’

‘We’re good together.’

Mello hummed incoherently shutting his eye. He must be really close now, Matt thought, it can’t hurt to give him real friction for the final run. Matt pushed up the pace of the thrusts to match the speed of his hands and in seconds Mello was squirming against him, eye wide, mouth open, groaning as he rode out the slow, smooth, tender orgasm.

Matt stayed inside Mello until he was sure he was asleep. He turned over and rolled the condom off, noticing blood on the tip. Probably a good job he kept his self restraint. He balled up the discarded towel and headed to the bathroom, soaking it under the shower while he sorted himself out with his hand. 

When he had finished he got his underwear back on and snuck into bed beside Mello, who made the most delicious sighing noise as he pushed the cool towel back over his burnt face. He lay still, listening to Mello’s ragged breathing beside him, hoping it wouldn’t stop.

 

*

 

‘What the fuck?’ Mello sat bolt upright, flinging terrycloth in all directions, hand reaching unconsciously for a gun that wasn’t there.

‘Don’t make this difficult for yourself Mello,’ said whoever had got the drop on him, pinning his hands together and cuffing them behind his back. Matt watched him eyeing up the ten or so black clad figures bent on immobilising him. Mello kicked out and soon someone was struggling to get ropes around his swollen ankles.

‘Roger didn’t think you’d come without a struggle,’ said a woman, as two men picked him up and deposited him on a waiting trolley. 

‘Matt you asshole,’ screamed Mello. ‘You complete fucker Ma-,’ Mello was silenced by someone snapping an oxygen mask over his face. Matt pulled his clothes on while the medical team uncuffed Mello and strapped him into foam restraints. He followed the trolley, picking up the gloves the medics discarded to get an IV in his hand. Mello shook the metal trolley furiously all the way to their unmarked van; the medics barely registered Matt slip in behind them and sit down beside him. He stroked Mello's wired up hand; the van was cool and dark, lit only by the flashes of monitor equipment and the murderous fury still glaring out of Mello's good eye. Matt felt Mello's grasping fingers go lax as the morphine gently crept into his system; he heard Mello's breathing ease as he slipped back into sleep. Touch and go if he ever talks to me again, thought Matt. He wished it didn’t have to be that way.

With Mello it always had to be that way.


End file.
